


Tales From The Lyrium Vein

by exalted_free_marches



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Short & Sweet, Solavellan Hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 10,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exalted_free_marches/pseuds/exalted_free_marches
Summary: A compendium of drabbles I've written for my DA OCs, and their romances!





	1. Ash/Dorian - You Look Like Hell

Relocating to Tevinter had been a struggle for Ashann. Initially, he didn’t want to leave Skyhold - he couldn’t bring himself to abandon the Inquisition. But he knew they would remain strong with or without his physical presence, and so agreed to leave with his love. He did enjoy Tevinter on the whole - the weather was beautiful, the fashion was superb, and the gossip was vicious. Though, he never quite got used to the assassination attempts. 

More than once, Dorian came home having been in a scuffle. No matter how many times Ash accompanied him, he couldn’t always be there. He couldn’t always protect him. So when Dorian stumbled through the door of their villa, bloodied and bruised, Ash dropped his wine glass to the floor. It shattered on the painted tiles, and he cursed himself in Dorian’s stead for wasting a fine red on the floor.

“You look like hell.” Ash breathed, catching Dorian in his arms. His hair was mussed and his nose was bleeding, but he would be alright.

“Yes, I seem to have ruined these robes.” Ash paused a moment, observing the destruction of his outfit. The tail of the sash that wrapped around Dorian’s waist was torn, and the hem of his robe was singed and dirty. Drops of blood trickled down his face and sank into the white silk, ruining the material. “No matter. I’ll just have to find another, won’t I?”

“Of course, love. Now, who do I need to kill this time?” Ash chuckled, not caring for subtlety. He reached into the chest near the door where he stored the bandages. He sat Dorian down at the table and began to clean him up, gently washing his face and neck of blood and grime.

“I seriously doubt you could assassinate the entire Magisterium, amatus, even with your skills.” Dorian, snarky as ever, reclined in the chair holding a cloth under his bleeding nose to try and stem the flow. 

“Maybe not, but I could… I don’t know. Something.” Ash grimaced as he uncovered a deep purple bruise on Dorian’s cheek. He tried not to touch it, but it was so tender that Dorian whined as he brushed against it. Ash apologized profusely, pulling back to wash off the cloth.

“This is the price of progress, amatus. I’d gladly suffer a bloody nose for the future of my country. For our future.” Dorian loved to wax poetic when Ash was paying exclusive attention to him. 

“Now, Magister Pavus, what would people think? A mage from Tevinter and a Dalish Elf? Maker forbid. I think I may faint!” Ash teased, imitating a familiar nosy noble.

“Ah. We truly are meant to be- It’s too unlikely!” Chuckling, Dorian planted a gentle kiss on Ash’s forehead. “Thank you, amatus. It will get better.”


	2. Teya/Sera - Wasn't Expecting That

_It was an elf. She wasn’t expecting an elf._

After that scavenger hunt through the Bazaar lasted all day, Teya was thoroughly exhausted. She fought through the courtyard sluggishly, making her way to where the note said the ‘baddie’ would be. She makes it to the center of the courtyard, dodging a fireball as she comes face to face with a mysterious masked noble.

“Herald of Andraste. How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably!” The man says. More fucking Orlesians, Teya thinks to herself.

“Actually, I have no idea who you are.” Teya says, matter-of-factly. It was true - she really had no clue, only that he was an enemy of the Inquisition.

“You don’t fool me. I’m too important for this to be an accident! My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.” He’s clearly posturing, and Teya is starting to get annoyed. She unlatches her staff from her shoulder, but before she can strike, she hears an arrow fly through the air. A guard drops beside the noble, and from behind him appears a tall elven woman with unevenly cut blonde hair.

“Just say ‘what’!” The elf says, but before the noble can speak, she draws her bow and plants an arrow squarely between his eyes. He falls to the ground, gurgling and shaking before going still. The woman steps over his body to greet her.

“That was impressive. You’re the one who left the notes?” Teya asks, putting her staff back in its place.

“Uh-huh. You followed them well enough. Glad to see you’re…” She pauses for a moment, looking Teya up and down in wonder. “You’re well fit. Ahem. Heard about your kind. Seeing’s different.”

“My kind? You mean Qunari?” Teya chuckles to herself, smiling at the woman. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Name’s Sera, this is cover. Get ‘round it. For the reinforcements. Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed - they’ve got no breeches!” The elf, Sera, says. _This’ll be fun._


	3. Vel/Varric - Why Am I Not Surprised?

Vel looked so natural at court that it was almost unsettling. The way she could change her personality to suit her surroundings was damned impressive to Varric. He watched her drift through the crowd, mingling with nobles and servants alike. Every single person in the room turned to watch her, murmuring amongst themselves, gossiping about the Inquisitor. But she knew, they all knew, the ball would have been absolutely listless without her.

Her dress was what caught Varric’s eye, though. It was sheer blue silk, dark like a stormy sea. The gown was constructed in such a way that it shimmered when the light hit it. Her shoulders were draped in golden branches that crawled, like a living creature, to her chin - he imagined that was what was keeping her head angled upwards. The sleeves were long and cinched at the wrist and upper arm, but billowed out elsewhere. It suited her, he thought. But the crowning jewel was her hair - left long but tucked back behind her curved ears, which were adorned with small gold cuffs encrusted with jewels.

Josephine, Leliana and Vivienne had fawned over the Inquisitor for weeks, trying to get the outfit just right - and it seems as though they’d succeeded. But he suspected the ears were her own choice. She always was unapologetic about her heritage, and Varric admired her for it. It would make sense for her to show it off.

Watching her dance was an entirely different game. The effortlessness with which she moved through the steps was mystifying. It would appear to the untrained eye that she’d known the dances all her life, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. Varric had watched her in the courtyard, her hands held up, trying to master each stance. It was miraculous how quickly she got the hang of it, and watching her now he can hardly remember how awkward her movements were at first. Now, every turn, every step, every flick of the wrist or nod of the head is deliberate. It is a word, or a phrase, silent but still there. He’s so busy watching her, he hardly notices the dancing is done.

“Enjoying the party, Varric?” _Even her voice is different here._ The Dalish lilt that he so enjoyed was quieter, but somehow more confident. Everything about her, right down to the smallest detail, the most insignificant behavior, was calculated and curated to exude strength.

“Oh, of course, Clover. I get the feeling it wouldn’t be much of a party without you here, though. Did you see the way all those nobles were staring at you?” Varric smirks, savoring the memory of the shocked Orlesian lords and ladies as Vel waltzed into the ballroom; bare feet, ears and vallaslin on prominent display.

“I must be the most exciting thing they’ve seen in months, if not years.” She chuckles, softer than usual. She was quieter here - she let her appearance speak for her, and it clearly did.

“I’d bet it’s more scandalous than exciting. Those ear cuffs were your choice, right?” Varric asks, and she nods in affirmation, gesturing to where Josephine and Vivienne stood, mingling. She clearly overruled them on that one small decision.

“As long as they’re paying attention to me, I don’t care what they think. I just need them to listen. So, what do you say we go and give them something to gossip about?” Vel whispers, outstretching her small hand to him. He could hardly believe what he’d just witnessed.

“My dancing days are long gone, Clover. I don’t even know the steps.” He says, a confused smile blooming on his face.

“It’s either you or Cullen, and I’d rather not be thrown across the room like a ragdoll.” She curls her fingers upwards, beckoning him with calf eyes, beaming as he finally relents and takes her hand in his.

“Clover, you know I can’t resist those sad puppy eyes. You’re evil, you know.” Varric’s voice trickled off into silence.

“Why am I not surprised?” She smiles knowingly, leading him through the ballroom and out onto the crowded dance floor.


	4. Ash/Dorian - In The Rain

Tevinter was humid in the summer. Heavy clouds hung low over Minrathous, the city baking in the heat. Ash could feel the sweat weeping out of his every pore, his skin sticky and uncomfortable. He’d pulled his hair up into a low-hanging bun, and it brushed against the back of his neck as he jogged down the cobbled streets to the Magisterium.

Dorian was late, as always. Another hours-long discussion, going nowhere. He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly and found it frizzed, puffed up from the moisture in the air. He could smell the coming rain in the cool breeze that drifted through the city, feel it in his bones. He had been calling out for relief, and it came.

Ash was soaked to the skin by the time he reached the steps of the Magisterium, dashing into an alcove to get out of the rain. Dorian had swaggered down to meet him, holding the loose end of his robe above his head in a helpless attempt to keep his hair together. The downpour continued around them, but they weren’t listening. Nor were they speaking.

Dorian’s lips were cool and forgiving, tasting of spiced tea and tropical fruits. Ash rubbed a thumb across his lover’s cheek, marveling at the view. Dorian’s eyeliner had bled down his face in dark paths, his normally beautifully coiffed hair drooping low across his forehead, the long braided section in the back messy and dripping wet.

“Would it kill us to wait until this rain lets up?” Dorian speaks, craning his head out to look at the sky. The clouds were an impenetrable dark grey, and it didn’t appear that the rain would be stopping anytime soon.

“Please, Dorian, don’t tell me you can’t handle a little sprinkling of rain? Live a little!” Ash chuckles, reaching a hand out beyond the overhang and catching a few droplets in his open palm.

“I’d hardly call this a sprinkling. More like a torrential downpour. But I suppose, if there’s nothing to be done…”

It was a most undignified sight - a magister and an elf, running through the streets of Minrathous, laughing gleefully, clothes soaked and hair mussed. _Neither of them were ever going to fit in, anyway._


	5. Vel/Varric - Celebration

Corypheus was _dead_. It felt unreal - suspiciously like Haven. Like Adamant. Vel hadn’t quite let herself believe it yet. She walked on shaky legs down the steps of the Temple which Corypheus had assembled, lightning still crackling from her fingertips. That’s when she saw him.

And he _smiled_. He stood beside Cassandra, but she pulled back. Vel couldn’t help herself. She ran, falling to her knees gracelessly, wrapping her arms tightly around him and huffing a heaving breath into his chest.

“You did it, Clover. You really showed that Tevinter bastard what for! No offense, Sparkler.” Varric exclaims, pulling her in tightly and planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“None taken, Varric. I completely agree. It seems our Vel is made of stronger stuff. Truly miraculous!”

“I can’t believe it’s over.” Vel whispers, almost a wordless whistle. “He was one ugly son of a bitch, though. Creators, I’m lucky to have you.” Vel chuckles breathily, rising to her feet once more to look down at her love.

Without thinking, she reaches down for a kiss. In front of the entire Inquisition. Though most of the inner circle knew by now(it was an open secret among her companions and closest friends), her soldiers were a different story. As she bent at the waist and craned her neck to meet Varric’s lips, she could hear Bull and the Chargers cheering and whooping in encouragement. She remembered how he was the first to pick up on their relationship. He’d mentioned over drinks that “Ben-Hassrath training makes you an expert at picking up on people’s strengths and weaknesses. Don’t be afraid. It makes you stronger.”

Now, they egged her on. She could hear Krem’s voice, clear among the rest, shouting to her.

“Inquisitor! Show the dwarf who’s boss!” He laughed, leading a cheer. She thanked the Creators every day for his company. There were no better drinking buddies in all of Thedas.

As the fires burned around them, the circles of soldiers huddled around them stood and clapped. Even Vivienne wore a wholehearted smile.

“Varric, if you do not write a book about this, I will _kill_ you.” Cassandra speaks, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Her grin, though tight-lipped, seemed genuine. Vel thought it suited her.

“That’s non-negotiable, Seeker. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up. Though I think some of the content will have to be left out, to preserve our beloved Inquisitor’s dignity. I’m thinking, ‘The Dalish and the Deshyr’ or something along those lines. It’s a work in progress.” He nods in Vel’s direction, causing a smirk to bloom on her face as well.

“Hm. How about ‘The Merchant and the Mage’ if we’re going alliterative? In any way, you’ll get the first copy, Cassandra. I owe my happiness to you, after all. Without you, we’d never have met.” Vel reaches out to embrace the Seeker and is welcomed with open, awkward arms.

“I suppose that’s true. I am glad something good has come of it. And I am pleased that the both of you are happy together.”


	6. Nehri/Solas - The Wolf's Path

Nehri held the squirming bundle in her arms and would not let go. Tears ran in rivers down her face, patted dry by the healer who had attended her.

He was perfect in every way. His hair was dark, soft like the fuzz on a peach and uncommonly full. His lips were small and curved, his nose miraculously tiny, and on his chin sat a barely visible dimple. She hardly knew what to think.

Of course, she’d known what she was doing when she’d made him.

“You’re not going to leave me with nothing,” She told Solas, “I’m not going to leave with nothing to remember you by. Let me have at least this.”

She knew she would be alone - she had accepted it, welcomed it even. But now that he was here, it was different. She had nobody to hold her hand, no love to share the joy of parenthood with. She felt deeply and profoundly _alone_.

Her heart broke for him then. Fenesvir - _the wolf’s path_. She had chosen the name many months ago, when his existence consisted only of the feather-light kicks she felt in the dead of night, the pink scars along her hips where her skin had pulled to the breaking point. It suited the child, she had thought, of Fen’harel.

Now, as she looked down on her own little wolf, she couldn’t help but see the resemblance. The slope of his nose, the cleft in his chin. She was reminded of Solas’ freckles, the tilt of his eyes, the slight imperfections that she cherished so.

She needed him in that moment. She needed him there with her, drying her tears, pressing tender kisses to their son’s forehead. She cursed herself for letting him leave, though she suspected nothing she ever could have said would have convinced him to stay. She cursed him aloud for leaving, as if she thought he could hear her, wherever he was.

Nehri hummed softly to herself and to her son, thoughts swimming through her head. Purpose was there still, in the back of her mind, drinking in the emotion of the little wolf’s birth. But she had a new purpose now, a quest greater than vengeance. Reunion.

“You’ll know your father, I promise you. It won’t be easy to find him, but we will.” Nehri speaks, her voice softer than she remembered it being. “I will either find a way or make one.”

_The Dread Wolf stole her heart - but she took a piece of his, too._


	7. Vel/Varric - Copper Marigolds

In an instant, Varric’s whole world changed. He’d just fallen out of the Fade, turned back, and saw the Inquisitor glowing. Although, not a rarity for her, it was different this time. It wasn’t the Anchor. It was… _her_. 

Before he could call out to her, she’d created a wall of fire around herself, burning the remaining demons and corrupted Wardens to ash. He could see her outline behind the magically summoned flames, kneeling on the stones, her arms outstretched trying to maintain the barrier.

He ran through the flames without thinking, dropping Bianca as the barrier parted to allow him in. Cassandra tried to follow, but the gap closed after he entered.

The woman he found behind those flames was not Vel. Or at least, she was not the Vel he remembered.

_His_ Vel, the Dalish with eyes softer than warm summer rain and a smile sweeter than her favorite cakes. Enthusiastic and kind, who happily recalls her dreams at breakfast for all who will listen. The woman who weaves flower crowns for children, keeping hers until it has long since wilted away. Who mumbles incoherent elven in her sleep, who hates to wear her hair long. The innocent, sweet thing who cried when she killed a dragon and who blushes all the way to the tips of her ears when embarrassed.

This woman was Vel beneath all that - the broken core of her being. Her face was contorted in a guttural scream, blood dripping from her nose down onto her armor. There was fear in her eyes unlike anything he’d ever seen before. She was not simply afraid - she was terrified. She gripped her left hand with her right, clawing at it as she cried. She was scared of herself.

She dropped to her knees, battered and bruised, and the wall of fire that had protected her collapsed around them. Varric dove to catch her in his arms, rocking her against his chest as she sobbed. Her hands shook. Her entire body shook.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She repeats the broken syllables, again and again, voice hoarse and gravelly. “I didn’t… I’m not… It was an accident… I can’t!” she stared at her hands in shock and disbelief - soft, dainty hands which still glowed with the remnants of the magic flames she’d called forth.

“Shh, Clover. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be alright.” Varric pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the blood from her face, trying not to smear it further. Her head lolls against his hand and she looks up at him with the same lyrium-blue eyes, now bloodshot and brimming with tears. Wet teardrops roll down her cheeks and over his fingers, but he doesn’t wipe them away.

“Don’t let them take me. Please don’t let them take me!” Vel cries out, reaching up to grip the collar of Varric’s duster. He pulls her in closer, forming himself into a protective shield around her.

“Nobody’s gonna take you from me. Not ever.” He speaks, slow and soft, pulling her hair back from her face and tucking her legs over his arm. It was at that moment he realized he’d left Bianca behind, tossed her to the side before he ran into the wall of flames. Shit…

He knew what he had to do. It reminded him of Hawke, what he’d said before they left for the fortress:

_Bianca’s a memory, Varric. You’ll never get her back. So stop dwelling on the past and start thinking about the future. The Inquisitor cares for you, and I know you care for her too. I’ve seen how you look at her. We all have. Just say it. Tell her._

“I love you, Vel. I’ll always keep you safe. I promise.” Varric’s voice faltered, the words falling from his lips in a graceless whisper. He pulled her tighter still, his knees aching from pressing against the hard stone. He could feel her breathing slow, cool tears dripping onto his chest as she calms.

“Don’t leave me, Varric. Please…” Vel says, a pitiful whimper escaping her lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, Clover.” Varric murmurs, his voice quieter now than it was. He pulls himself to his feet, carrying Vel with ease. She truly was a wisp of a thing, though her long legs hung awkwardly over the side of his arm. Cassandra was the first to speak.

“A mage? How could she hide that? Why?” The Seeker asks, just as shocked as the rest of the witnesses. Varric does not reply, instead focused on Vel’s white-knuckled fists clenched onto the lapels of his duster. He keeps walking, not stopping until he finds a suitable mount for the two of them.

_There will be no copper marigolds in this tale. No, their story is silver moonlight and a stolen kiss. Honeyed words and strong wine, scandalous secrets shared in the dark. Their story is crimson silk and clover flowers._

His mind lingered on the words long after she’d fallen asleep, slumped in his arms on the cart ride back to Skyhold. He rewrote the first few paragraphs in his head, longing for a pen and paper. For the time being, he’d simply have to remember it.


	8. Vel/Varric - Legacy

Varric drank in the quiet of his mansion like a well-deserved glass of whiskey. Vel had labored for a few hours in the early evening, alone in her chambers, not letting anyone near save the midwife. He’d brought a chair up to sit next to the door, head in his hands, listening to his dainty, sweet wife cursing like a sailor in common and elven, as if she didn’t have enough words to properly describe the feeling.

As the pains became more severe and her labor drew into the night, cursing turned to wailing, and then screaming. He’d stood up then, pacing outside the door, ready to run in at a moment’s notice. And then it came - a cry for help. A pitiful keening sound, broken syllables of his name.

Varric nearly broke the damned door down. He was seconds away from throwing himself at it when the midwife unlocked it from the other side, allowing him in. He hardly noticed the mess, running straight to the bedside where a chair had been prepared for him. He sat, immediately grabbing a cool wet cloth from the bedside table and wiping the sweat off her brow.

“Varric?” Her voice was hoarse and tinged with fear. Her eyes were wide, jaw clenched. He’d never seen her in such a state before, and it worried him.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.” Varric coos, mumbling mismatched lines of a poem into her ear before the next pain.

“Won’t be long now, my lady. I can see the top of baby’s head - little one’s got a lovely head of hair!” The midwife chuckled. She was an older elven woman, who’d taken care of Vel throughout her pregnancy. She’d also correctly guessed when the baby would come, much to Varric’s, and the entire betting population of Kirkwall’s, dismay.

“What do you think, Clover? Ginger, maybe? Last chance to bet on it.” Varric strokes her sweat-soaked red hair, wondering what color the baby’s could be. 

Vel groaned, long and low, panting and whining until she sucked in a breath, letting out a curt laugh. 

“Typical Varric - making bets while his wife is bringing his child into the world.” Vel offers a tight lipped smile before returning to her focus to pushing.

The world seemed to slow around them for the next few minutes, and as he remembers those moments frozen in time, he smiles. Vel, growling from somewhere deep in her body, crying out as the midwife tells her to breathe, to keep pushing. Her hand gripping his arm, riding out the wave of pain. Then, in an instant, all goes quiet. A loud, angry cry rings out like a bell, piercing the silence. Varric can feel tears prick his eyes, leaning over to try and catch a glimpse of his child before the midwife whisks them away. He didn’t manage to see - his vision cloudy. He turns his focus to Vel, kissing her on the forehead.

“You hear that cry, Clover? Kid’s gonna be a talker like me, I just know it.” Varric cranes his head over, trying to catch a glimpse of the baby. The midwife was washing them with a warm cloth as they screamed.

“That’s comforting. Two blabbermouths in one house? Maker, what will I ever do?” Vel laughs weakly, reaching up to ruffle Varric’s hair.

The midwife, swift as ever, dropped the squirming bundle in Varric’s lap as she cleaned Vel up. Hesitantly, he brought his hand up to squeeze the tiny cheek of his newborn. The little one was bright pink and precious, with the smallest nose he’d ever seen and big, barely open eyes. He pulled back the swaddle to reveal a perfectly round head covered in fine reddish-blonde hair, and ears with a barely visible point to them. He couldn’t believe this child was _his_.

“What is it?” Vel asks meekly as Varric rests the baby in the crook of her elbow, helping her to hold them correctly.

“A daughter.” The midwife smiles from ear to ear. She’d bet on that one, too.

Varric couldn’t have stopped the tears even if he wanted to.

———-

The quiet was comfortable. Varric reclined in the bed, Vel’s head resting on his chest, their little girl sleeping soundly in her cot beside the bed.

“What should we name her, then?” Vel asks, lifting her head up to meet his eyes.

“Oh. I’m not sure. Strong dwarven name, maybe?” Varric mutters. He knew Vel didn’t want to choose elven names, so he thought he’d make it a little easier for her.

“And what would those be? Varric Junior, I suppose?” Vel chuckles quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

“Of course not, that would be ridiculous. Not for a girl, at least. How about Anika?” Varric suggests.

“She doesn’t look like an Anika.” Vel concludes, after leaning over and watching the baby for a few seconds.

“You’re right, she doesn’t. What about… Daria?” Varric tries, and fails, to think of more names. He draws a blank, just saying what pops into his head.

“Absolutely not. Dorian would think we named her after him.” Vel raises her eyebrows at her husband. “He would be so pleased with himself. Creators, Varric, save me from that misery!”

“True, true. I feel like we should have thought of this earlier. We did have a few months, after all…” Varric stifles a laugh, thinking of all the unfortunately named dwarven girls he’s encountered. He won’t make the same mistake with his daughter.

“Probably. But…” Vel stops, as if she’d suddenly had an epiphany. “What do you think of Nadia?”

“It’s… Actually, it’s lovely. What do you think, kid? Do you like that? Nadia?” Varric draws out the syllables of the name, cooing at her. She’d just woken up, and was slowly opening her eyes. She had her little fist wrapped around Varric’s pinky finger, and he marveled at her strong grip. Suddenly, without warning, she made a face - later attributed to passing gas, but it looked distinctly like a smile.

“She loves it, Clover. Smiled and everything. Nadia Tethras it is, then!”

“Are you gonna give her a nickname too, vhenan?” Vel asks, curling up against him and cupping Nadia’s tiny face in her hand. Varric can hardly believe his luck. The moonlight shines through the panes of the bedroom windows, dappling spots of soft white light on Nadia’s forehead.

“I think… Starlight. For now, at least.” Varric considers it for a moment, then reveals his choice to Vel. She nods in approval, kissing him gently before she begins to drift off alongside him.

_So this is what it’s like…_


	9. Vel/Varric - Vows

“Be careful with my daughter, Master Tethras. She has a tender heart. I would not see it broken.” Vel’s father speaks, more of a suggestion than a warning. He was a strikingly mild-mannered man, compared to his outgoing and confident wife.

“Oh, ‘Athi, he will! Stop fretting. She’ll have every comfort! He is the Viscount, after all.” Her mother defends Varric before he can answer for himself. She stood, almost protectively, between himself and Vel’s father, hands on her hips defiantly.

Speaking with them, he noticed his fiancee’s resemblance to her parents much easier. Her father’s quiet, calm disposition and fiery red hair. Her mother’s blue eyes and enthusiasm, occasionally her temper. But she was still remarkably, uniquely herself. Velahris Lavellan. _Velahris Tethras, in a few moments._

“I know, vhenan. I know. I’m pleased she chose well. But enough of that. They should be ready now, yes?” His soon to be father-in-law leads the large party of guests to the Grand Cathedral. It was a bright spring day in Val Royeaux - dew slipped off the petals of flowers in the gardens, and a light fog hung in the air. It was cool, but not uncomfortable. Sunlight glittered off the miraculously flat sea. The perfect day for a wedding. For his wedding.

Varric twiddled his thumbs while he walked. He felt as if someone had dropped a lead ball into his stomach. He wasn’t used to being anxious. Not anymore, at least. The sash at his waist suddenly felt a little too tight. _Maker, it still didn’t feel real_. After all the years he spent alone, the decades he’d pined for Bianca… He was hardly the age to be marrying, let alone…

His thoughts drifted to Vel, and their child. _His child_. He’d never known fear like what he’d felt when she told him. Not for himself, but for her. He wasn’t entirely certain she’d even survive the Council. He sat beside her, replacing the bandages on her arm after it had been amputated. Hoping, praying that she would pull through. And she did. She always did. 

“Nervous?” Ashara leans in, sensing his anxiety.

“Of course.” Varric confesses, seeing no reason to lie. 

“Good man. You’ll do fine.” Myathilen, Vel’s father, claps him on the shoulder.

———–

Vel looked otherworldly. Her wedding gown, a wisp of white sheer silk with gold embroidery lining her neck, just barely skimmed the floor. Her left arm, or what remained of it, was cleverly concealed beneath a heavy fur cloak, while her right arm was adorned with jeweled bracelets and one long sleeve split down the middle, each side drifting in the slight breeze afforded by the open chantry doors. Her hair was braided intricately and tucked beneath a fine lace veil. Her ethereal appearance drew gasps, but he could barely focus - until her eyes met his, and she smiled.

“You look… spectacular.” Varric says, breathless. As she drew closer, he could see the glittering green tones woven into the fabric. It reminded him of the Breach, merely a rippling scar in the heavens now. The soft swell of her stomach was well hidden beneath her skirts, and he silently thanked Josephine for being able to conceal her condition.

“You’re not so bad yourself. Who chose that outfit of yours?” Vel whispers, leaning in close to plant a kiss on Varric’s cheek.

“Ah. Sparkler helped me pick it. Or, forced me to let him toss clothes at me until I found something I didn’t hate. And you?” He observed his own outfit subconsciously - they were matching, as the former ambassador had insisted upon. He hoped she was happy with the outcome. His usual duster and tunic were replaced with magnificent(and ridiculously expensive) robes. A high, angular collar transitioned into a buttoned golden doublet. To match his wife-to-be, he had a cape fastened and draped over his shoulder. A red sash was wrapped around his waist. Dorian had insisted on loose-fitting trousers, which were then tucked into high boots. He didn’t fully understand the nuances of fashion, but he’d wear just about anything if it would make Vel happy.

“Vivienne’s tailor. Though, Josephine and Leliana made a few suggestions. I’ve got twelve knives in my skirt. Twelve! I’ll have to show you later.” Vel snickers a little before pulling back, placing her hand out.

“Now that’s the Vel I know.” Varric murmurs, pride in his voice, before taking her small hand in his.

He could just barely catch the hint of Vel’s perfume as she spoke her vows. It was light and floral, perfect for spring by all accounts. It reminded him of the gardens in Hightown, lilac and wisteria in bloom, petals drifting onto passersby. He wondered if Vel would like to have a garden in Kirkwall. He supposed she would.

He finally understood what Cole meant. Her voice _does_ sound like lyrium’s song.

His own voice almost faltered as he said his vows. He’d prepared for days, reciting, re-writing them to be perfect. Flawless. But all that preparation went out the window when the time came. So instead, he spoke from the heart.

“I promise, to the Maker, and to whoever else is listening… I promise to keep you safe, care for you, and love you always. Your heart will always be safe with me. You’re the only person who’s ever left me speechless, Clover. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Varric uttered the last sentence quietly, pulling his wife in for a kiss to seal their fate. It reminded him of her height, but he didn’t mind. She was the only person he cared to look up to.

The applause was thunderous, every single person rising from their seat. Varric couldn’t help but smile as he watched a grin pull at his new wife’s cheeks.

“Drinks, husband?” Vel spoke only to him.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, wife.” Varric winked, and led her out of the Grand Cathedral.


	10. Ari/Bull - In The Snow

Ari loved winter in Ferelden. It reminded her of her childhood in the Frostbacks, sliding down snow-covered hills and drinking hot apple cider to warm up. She was of course older now, and couldn’t enjoy the winters as lightheartedly as she did as a child. She had her own children to look after now, after all. She smiled as they frolicked in the several feet of snow that had accumulated overnight. The sun had since come out, bathing the field behind their home in bright golden light. The five of them were enjoying themselves probably a little too much; Meraad and Taashath trying to build a snowman and fighting over what shape its horns were going to be. Sataa rolling around giddily in the powder, her stark white horns matching the snow perfectly. The twins, ‘Lea and ‘Lem, chasing each other around tossing snowballs at their siblings. 

And there Bull was, directing the chaos as was his custom. He had a wide grin plastered across his face. Ari wondered if it was pride or adoration. Either was likely to split his face if he kept smiling like that.

“It’s beautiful, Snowflake. Why don’t you give that one to your mama? I’m sure she’d love a gift!” Bull turns to point at Ari, catching her gaze. He had bent down to talk to Sataa, his hand placed gently on his oldest daughter’s tiny shoulder.

“Mama, mama! Papa told me to give you this!” Sataa squeals, trudging through the snow as fast as her little legs will take her. As she reached her, she held her lanky arms up to show the gift - a snowball, flattened into the vague shape of a head, with sticks poking out of the sides of it.

“Look, mama, it’s you! I even put the ears in!” Sataa almost vibrates with excitement as her mama smiles brightly, twitching her ears to give her little one a laugh.

“It’s perfect, da’len. I’m so happy you thought of me!” Ari speaks, before she feels a warm, large hand cup her waist. She cocks her head up just in time to have a kiss planted on her forehead.

“Go play now, Snowflake. The snow won’t last forever.” Bull says, ruffling Sataa’s blonde locks before turning back to Ari.

“Sometimes I can’t believe it. How did I get so lucky? With you, and all the little ones?” Ari sighs, reaching her arms up to caress as much of Bull’s chest as she could manage. They were an unlikely couple - most were surprised that he didn’t simply _break_ her. But she was made of sturdier stuff, and he was not easily deterred.

“I don’t know, kadan. How did I get so lucky with you?” Bull murmurs, sighing as she nuzzles deeper into his chest. “My beautiful, badass, demon-slaying, magister ass-kicking woman.”

“Don’t forget, mother of your five children. _Five, Bull!_ Most women give up after two!” Ari chuckles, leaning back to meet his gaze. “Not like I can help it anyway. You’re too persuasive for your own good.”

“Oh, I know. You’ve been through a hell of a lot since the Inquisition. Still look as good as the first time I ever saw you. I don’t know how you do it, kadan!” Bull reaches down to thumb over her stomach possessively, the scars beneath that very spot on her thick coat silvery-pink now and not as red and angry as they used to be, when she’d been pregnant. She took them as a badge of honor - like battlescars, no less impressive than the rippling scars that cover her love’s chest and back.

“I wouldn’t mind a few more. Kids, I mean. If that’s alright with you?” Ari speaks softly, looking out at her squealing, delighted children once more before turning back to their father.

He brought his hand up to her cheek, leaning down to capture her lips in a heated kiss. It left her breathless, with a heaving chest and rapid pulse. _Just like old times._

“I’d love that, kadan.”


	11. Vel/Varric - Helpless

Varric has written many stories in his time. He considers himself an expert on the subject. However, when it comes time to write his own, he has some difficulty finding the words.

Looking at her leaves him starstruck. He swoons over the smallest gesture: the way she examines ancient texts, the tenderness with which she carries the dusty, crumbling old tomes. The way her fingers trace the elven words, wishing the subtleties of her people’s bygone language would come to her in a dream. 

The curve of her neck as she stretches in her chair, the bend of her spine as she reaches gracefully over his own shoulder to snatch a few pages of unfinished work. The playful tug of her lips upward, the crinkling of her nose and the corners of her eyes as she smiles.

“You’re staring again, Varric. Why?” Her voice is soft, curious and inviting.

And in a single moment, he’s wordless. Mute. _Defenseless_. He wanted her - only her. His beautiful Flower of the Dales and a bottle of cheap whiskey, in a comfortably dingy tavern with a witty name. He wanted a world of their own where he’d never have to leave her bed before dawn. A universe in which they could exist in an imperfect, natural synchrony together, without secrecy or remorse. His heart was tangled up in longing, the desire to make the world perfect for her. To make it _work_ for both of them. 

He wants to hear her sing again. The notes, too familiar to ever forget. He played the moments over and over again in his mind: the warm touch of her hand against his cheek as the lilting lullaby fluttered from her lips. She’d thought he was dying, and for all intents and purposes he had been. If Solas hadn’t been there to help him, well… He didn’t want to think about what could have been.

“Don’t forget me, _vhenan_.” She had said, teary eyed and weak, as she tried in vain to staunch the flow of blood from his wound. She was covered in his blood from her chest to her thighs, her hands slick, the metallic scent of it thick in the air. It came too fast. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. To ask what the word meant. But now he knew.

It meant love. Permanence, finding peace at last. It meant whatever the user needed it to mean. For Vel, it was a home, simple and honest and enduring. For Varric, it meant the final resting place for his fragile, world-weary heart. But what they had went beyond love. It grew strong and deep in the fibre of their beings, their very souls entangled like the chains at the bottom of Kirkwall’s harbor. Together, their histories told a story like no other. A fairy tale he was determined to compile. He just had to ask.

He opens his mouth.

_“You’ve got an elfroot stain on your forehead, petal.”_


	12. Bela/Zevran - Eyes On Me

“Zev, darling, would you come here a moment?”

Bela’s eyes lingered on the shadowed form of his love, crouched on the windowsill, scanning the city skyline as the brilliant orange sun dipped below the horizon. Candlelight flickered as he sat at his desk, painstakingly scrawling out a letter to Avi. He’d only gotten a few paragraphs down before he had to take a break. His head was starting to ache, his eyes strained and brain overworked.

Zevran walked like a panther, Bela thought. He always had. It was one of the first things he had noticed about the assassin, the fluidity and confidence of his movements. He envied him from that moment on. They didn’t teach much about grace in the Circle, and certainly not charm. But nonetheless, he and his sister managed to grow into themselves quite well, with wit and allure to boot.

Though, as Zev strode across the room to meet Bela at his writing desk, he felt compelled to stand. It was Satinalia in Antiva City - music drifted on a cool sea breeze, the smell of saltwater and spices settling into Bela’s flowing robes and Zevran’s leathers like a potpourri.

“Mi amor… What is this?” Zevran chuckled softly as Bela stood to meet him, wrapping his arm around Zev’s waist and grasping his love’s leather-gloved hand in his own. Bela was only slightly taller than Zev, and thus had to crane his neck to reach his lover’s face.

“Zevran Arainai, would you do me the honor… of dancing with me?” Bela speaks, pressing an uncommonly chaste, wine-sweetened kiss to Zevran’s lips. “After all, that is what we’re here for.”

“Ah, I see! It would be the greatest pleasure. Or, one of the greatest, yes?” Zev’s words dripped with honeyed affection, a new development in the last few years.

“You tease!” Bela led the dance, a slow, rhythmic swaying. Zevran’s feline gait carried over to dancing, always light on his feet, as if at any moment he was liable to fly away.

“Guilty as charged!” Zevran laughed heartily, leaning into Bela’s chest as they waltzed each other through the steps.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the most incredible man in the world?” Bela murmured into Zevran’s hair as the tempo of the music slowed, bringing his hand up to stroke his lover’s cheek.

“A thousand times, mi amor.” Zevran’s lips curled up into a genuine smile, grabbing Bela by his collar and pulling him down into a passionate, breathless kiss.


	13. Vel/Varric - Red Inside, Eating You Up

It was Vel who heard it first. The low, mournful melody of the stone - eking its way into her brain, corrupting her from the inside out.

“Do you hear it?” She spoke softly, barely a murmur over the noise of the prison. Clanging steel gates, screaming prisoners, the crying of the desperate.

“Hear what?” Varric replied, looking up at her to find her face empty, devoid of emotion. At the corner of her eye was a line of red, just beneath the skin. It glowed inside her, a sickly red warmth.

“The song.” Vel says, eyes blank and drifting into the darkness beyond their cell. “It’s beautiful, but so sad.”

Varric pauses for a moment, looking down at his hands.

“I know, Clover. I know.”

———-

He was glad he couldn’t see himself. Almost a year in a prison had him a little worse for wear - most notably, at least to him, the fact he hadn’t been able to shave. His beard grew in thick and fast, unpleasant and unwanted. Vel didn’t seem to mind, nuzzling her face up against his cheek.

“You look good with a beard, Varric.” Vel added, curling herself up into his lap with practiced ease. It was less difficult to fit her there, now - her frame was bony and pale, sickened and so _small_. Her tiny, thin hands found their way to Varric’s exposed chest, eventually wrapping themselves around his neck. They were cold and clammy against his skin, but he didn’t care.

He pulled her against his chest, taking off his duster to wrap it around her. She shivered slightly at the flutter of wind created by his movement, and he quickly pulled her in, tucking her head flush against his chest. 

“Really, Clover? Hm. I don’t like it. Isn’t it scratchy?” He huffs, planting his chin on the top of Vel’s head.

“No. It feels like home.” Vel speaks, her voice drifting into a whisper.

“Then I guess I’ll keep it. Just a little longer, though.”

———-

She got worse quicker than Varric thought she would.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” She whispered, crawling her way to him in the dark.

“Hey, don’t talk like that. Someone’ll come for us, Clover. There’s… There’s gotta be someone still out there.” Varric wrapped her small, spindly frame in his arms, trying in vain to comfort her.

“Varric, look at me.” Vel tugs his chin down, forcing him to look. Her skin was sunken and grey, lips cracked and eyes starting to crystallize. She hadn’t slept in days- no, weeks. How long had it been since they’d eaten? “I’m dying.”

“If we’re going to die here, tell me the story of her. Of Bianca.” She asked, her voice hoarse with pain. 

“I made a promise, Vel. I can’t just…” Varric starts, before being interrupted.

“The world is gone, Varric. Tell me the story. Please?”

“I… Alright, Petal. I’ll tell you.”

“Petal? That’s new.” Vel’s lips quirked into a tired smile.

“I can’t keep calling you Clover, now can I?”

“Suppose not. And Varric?” Vel mumbles, lifting her head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“Hm?” Varric hums in question before Vel presses her lips to his. It was a long, slow kiss, ending with their foreheads pressed together, sad smiles on both of their faces.

“If I’m going to die, there’s no one I’d rather die with than you, Storyteller.”


	14. Nehri/Solas - Sea Change

Nehri had never liked the ocean, although she didn’t particularly know why. Something about the undulating of the tides, the fury of storms on the water unsettled her. Deep down, the sea reminded her of herself. Solas seemed to understand this.

The ocean was different with him around. It seemed to calm, revealing irresistibly shiny pebbles on the shore that she couldn’t help but pocket. When they returned to Haven, she affixed them to her staff as keepsakes. The salt air whipped her hair into her face as she laughed, hiding Solas’ soft, longing smile from view.


	15. Vel/Varric - Overgrown

Hightown suited her, Varric thought, like she was born to it. It took her less than a week to learn her way around the cobbled streets, easily finding herself wherever she needed to be whether she was consciously navigating or not. She seemed to enjoy living in Kirkwall, and he knew that after the Exalted Council, it was a breath of fresh air.

She had enlisted the help of Merrill in taking care of the dilapidated old garden, which the previous viscount hadn’t bothered to take care of. Oftentimes he’d spy her in the garden beds on his way to his office, planting marigolds or peonies and humming softly. He’d kiss her on the forehead as he passed, rubbing the inevitably present smear of dirt from her face with a smile.


	16. Vel/Varric - Trust

Bianca was gone, but Vel didn’t feel like she’d won. She was disappointed, angry, and above all, upset. Varric was distraught - it was easy to tell. That familiar never-too-serious smile turned distant and hollow.

“I trusted her.” He would whisper in the dead of night, Vel’s warm arms wrapped around him, her head resting against his chest.

“I know.” She would tell him, again and again, until he finally believed it. 

“I’m sorry, Vel. None of this shit was meant to happen.” He stroked her hairline gently, running his fingers through her wispy baby hairs.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, ma’vhenan.”


	17. Ari/Bull - Dust Motes

Ari never did like old places. They smelled like dust and mildew and memories. Old was good, though, like her clan always said. Old meant remembering, preserving. Old meant reverence.

“Mithari. Wheel of Blades. The histories of our people are yours to defend.”

It was different to Bull. He traced his fingers across her vallaslin, the blood writing that painted nearly every inch of her skin. She was beautiful - brave, strong, and stubborn. She carried the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders, and yet still had time for tenderness.

“What do they mean? Your tattoos. Always thought I should ask someday.” He murmurs into the soft pink flesh of her belly. She was so tiny next to him, he thought he would crush her. But he didn’t. And she never said _katoh_.

“They’re symbols of my people. Stories that we tell. Histories we want to protect and tell our own children.” Ari rolls onto her side to show her back, covered in intricate writing and small renditions of trees and battles. “They’re written into my skin, so I don’t forget them. It was the greatest honor my clan could bestow on me. I hope I do them justice.”

“You do, ‘Thari.” Bull says, placing a gentle, chaste kiss on his lover’s forehead. “I don’t think you could disappoint them if you tried.”


	18. Vel/Varric - Svelte

Vel’s form was slender, but not skinny. Her skin was supple and soft, warm and blush-pink beneath Varric’s fingers. He was out of practice. It had been too long - but he was glad he’d waited. She was worth it. She smiled up at him, red hair fluttered against the pillows.

“Are you alright, vhenan?” She asks, a tinge of curiosity and concern in her voice. She reaches a hand up to cup Varric’s face, tracing her thumb over his lips. Her hands were soft. Every inch of her was soft and forgiving, feminine and…

“Yeah. It’s just… You’re _beautiful_, Clover.” He says, smiling brightly. “I’m trying to find the words to describe you, but I can’t.”

“Then don’t speak, Varric. Deeds are good enough for me.” She smirks, pulling him down into a heated kiss.


	19. Vel/Varric - Tender

She was nothing like Bianca. She was tender and compassionate, sweet and genuine. She trusted fully, loved without reservation, and Varric fell for her much faster than he should have.

“So, you and the Boss, huh? Lucky.” Bull half-whispers to Varric over a pint of ale in the Herald’s Rest. He seemed almost jealous, but who wouldn’t be? Vel was who she was. Not to mention, she did have a look about her. That sweet, doe-eyed elven face that made his bones turn to jelly.

“Am I? I feel like any minute, the Seeker’s going to come in and lop my head off for getting too close to her.” Varric laughs, only slightly serious. He knew that Cassandra wouldn’t dare. Vel had gone through enough as of late.

“Hey, everyone needs a distraction. Just so happens that yours is Vel.” Bull shrugs, leaning over the table to order another round. Vel walks into the tavern, slipping into the seat next to him and tucking her hand in his under the table.

“Long day?” Varric says, chuckling softly.

“You can say that again.” She smiles slightly, pressing her thumb into his palm. The gentle, affectionate touch made him sigh. “I could go for a drink.”


	20. Nehri/Solas - Candles

Nehri had always been afraid of the dark. Ever since she was a child, shadows had frightened her. But she found that nighttime in Skyhold wasn’t as bad. The walls of the rotunda had a warmth to them, candlelight illuminating the colorful, abstract frescoes. She reached out to touch them but hesitated, flinching her hand back subconsciously.

“Go ahead, vhenan,” Solas, gentle and sure, pushes her hand to rest against the wall. Nehri can feel the buzz of magical energy as their skin touches, noting the uncanny likeness of the solemn, yellow-eyed woman. She was draped in finery, sheer orange silks and gold jewelry. She held her staff with familiar confidence. Her face was bare and her features sharp.

“It’s beautiful, Solas. I look like royalty.” She murmurs, a smile tugging at her lips.

“In another time, another world, maybe you would have been.” He whispers, his voice heavy with sorrow as he remembers just how far they’d fallen. How long it had been since she’d danced in those silks, conjuring wisps to light her way in the dark.

“What was that?” Nehri’s smile fades. She cups her hand around the flame, casting shadows across the room.

“You are remarkable, vhenan. That is all I meant to say.”


	21. Nehri/Solas - Savior

Solas hadn’t anticipated the blow. It came too fast, a flurry of blades that left him crawling to safety. He could feel the blood leaking from his wounds, his consciousness waning. He could only groan as he dragged himself away from the fighting.

Nehri seemed to float into view, lifting his body into her arms and charging off the battlefield, calling orders to Cassandra and Bull as she ran.

“You should really be more careful, Solas. I won’t be around to save you every time you get hit. Maybe try some armor?” Nehri chuckles as she carries him, the ease with which she did slightly unnerving.

“I will try, Nehriel. I am lucky to have you here, that much is certain.” He speaks, a relieved smile on his face.

“Call me Nehri. I don’t hear it enough these days.”


	22. Vel/Varric - Different

“Is this okay, sweetheart? Can I touch you here?” Varric asks, his fingers resting against the soft, tender skin of Vel’s inner thigh. She shuddered beneath him, her breaths slow and steady.

“Of course.” she murmurs, whimpering as he travels downward. He plants gentle kisses as he goes, following the path between the peaks of her breasts, down her stomach, until he reaches his destination.

Vel lets out a sigh as his mouth latches onto her, arching her back in desperation. Even though it had been longer than he’d like to admit since he’d been with a woman, his skills were still razor-sharp. Every movement of his tongue sends shocks of pleasure up her spine.

“My soft… sweet… petal…” Varric punctuates each word by licking a long stripe up her womanhood, teasing her just enough to have her squirming under him. “Now, what can I do for you, Clover?”

“Please, Varric…” Vel mewls, tugging at his shoulders, pulling down the breeches that were half-off already. “Please.”

He could see it in her eyes - the wanting, the desperation, the primal need for release. Vulnerable, like a wounded animal. Start slow, he reminded himself, moving in for the kill. Be gentle. 

“Are you sure?” Varric asks, cupping her cheek with his hand, looking into her wide eyes for signs of anxiety or nervousness. He found nothing but innocence and desire staring back at him. Nothing like Bianca…

“There’s nothing else I would rather do, ma’vhenan.” Vel whispers, kissing his temple gently, laying her head back on the pillow and widening her legs to allow him better access.

“I’ll do all the hard work. Let your body do the thinking - your mind can rest.” His hands travel to wrap around her waist, falling just above the curve of her hips. He traces the soft pink scars there, relics of a time gone by. Another world, another time, another life. Of the years before the Inquisition, before she even knew his name.

“It’s not like I’ve never had sex before, Varric, just… not, well… With a man.” Vel explains, chuckling softly. Her breaths flutter his chest hair, which she reaches out and strokes, burying her hands in the soft, golden curls. He, too, had scars - little silvery lines, puckered and yet soft. Memories of his old life, the petty squabbles and escapades of a young man who lived to tell the tale. 

“It’s a little different.” Varric says, thinking how strange it must be for her.

“I thought as much. Not by much, though. Same general idea. Find parts, fiddle until they’re done.” Vel laughs, her voice softening by the second.

“Ever the eloquent one, my pretty little tulip.” Varric smirks, furrowing his brow and feigning disapproval. She’s been spending too much time with Buttercup, he thinks.

“Ah, so I’m tulip now? What’s next - Dandelion? Thistle?” She rolls her eyes at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her.

“Nah. Those don’t suit you. Peony, rosebud…” Varric growls, burying his face in her neck. He tries to nibble at the skin there, but he can’t find much purchase, so he settles for sucking on a pulse point.

“Enough with the chit-chat, vhenan. You’d better get to work, hm?” Vel utters a shuddering breath, and for a moment Varric hesitates, deep in thought.

“As you command, Inquisitor.”


	23. Nehri/Solas - Bad Dreams

The Fade eased open around Nehri, embracing her like she was always meant to be there. The one place which would always hold a space for her, in both body and soul. Here, life was free of complications. Here, she forgets the pain of her waking moments, free to slip beyond the veil, whispering with spirits of Wisdom and Compassion.

And yet, even the Fade was different at Skyhold.

It felt old. Older than itself, she supposed. The veil beckoned her across, trapping her in unending nightmares. The souls of those who died at Haven screaming for mercy, absolution. Those she couldn’t save, begging for the Maker’s forgiveness. She was tormented. They weren’t her people - they would never be her people. But she felt responsible for them. She was their leader, and she failed them.

As she was pulled back into consciousness, she began to cry. Warm, wet tears rolled down her cheeks, washing away the dark kohl that painted her eyes.

“Da’len, you are above this. They are not your people.” Purpose chastised her, and she could feel the tinge of disappointment pricking at the back of her mind.

“They trusted me, and I betrayed them. They put their faith in me, however misguided it may have been, and I failed them!” She sniffles softly, suffering in silence as she has always done.

“Your destiny is not to lead the humans, child. Do not concern yourself with them. Their lives mean nothing.” Purpose’s voice fades as Nehri brushes her out of her thoughts, sitting upright in bed as she catches a glimpse of flickering candlelight at her door.

“Vhenan?” Solas’ voice floats through the silence like music, low and soft, easing the tension in her muscles. She allows her head to fall back on the pillow, tying a bow in the loose ribbons of her nightgown.

“It was just a nightmare, Solas. I’m alright now.” She still hadn’t quite recovered, brushing off the remnants of tears onto her sleeve. She could still feel the burning behind her cheeks, the pain in her heart.

As he approaches, she rolls to the opposite side of the bed, pulling back the covers and inviting him in.

“Will you stay with me?” She asks, only half-pleading. Her body quivers, a side effect of the night terrors she’d been plagued by. He clasps his hand around hers, slipping in beside her. His arms found themselves snaking around Nehri’s waist, his face burrowed in her neck. 

“Of course. I am happy to oblige.” He sighs into her skin, perfumed and soft, remarkably flawless. Her hair was fanned out against the pillow behind her, draping over his shoulders. It smelled of incense and spices, memories etched into his mind like runes in a stone.

“To be honest, I… am not sure if I’m alright. Not anymore.” A moment of vulnerability. One single sentence, spoken in confidence. Her soft voice faltering on syllables she was once sure of. It was progress, albeit slow. He was proud.

“You have done well, vhenan. Your grief will pass. For now, you must focus on the future.” He runs his fingers through her hair and down the curves of her waist, marveling at her softness. How many thousands of years had it been since he’d felt her lips against his? The gentle touch of her hand at his waist? Her smile, as she leads him through a dance she’d known since childhood?

“I suppose I should.” She tightens her grip on her hand, nails biting into her skin.

“Sleep, vhenan. You have been through enough.” 

“And what if the nightmares return for me?”

“Hush, Marigold. I shall protect you.”

“Marigold? My, my, Solas. You’ve been spending far too much time with Varric.”

“It is a lovely nickname. I believe it suits you well.”

“I… think so too. Varric does have a way with words.” Nehri sighs deeply, curling her legs up. “Solas?”

“Hm?” Solas hums, carding his fingers through her hair. It was impossibly soft, midnight-black and sleek as it glittered in the candlelight.

“Thank you.”


	24. Teya/Sera - Honey In Your Tea

Teya never drank tea. In fact, she preferred coffee. The bitter bite of it on her tongue, rousing her from her sleep and preparing her for the day. It reminded her of home - at least, what she remembered of it. The jungles of Seheron, lush green canopies dappling sunlight onto her cheeks. At times, she missed it. She missed the way the humid heat of the island made her hair curl, missed the other Tal-Vashoth who cared for her until she could make the journey to her new home. She didn’t drink coffee anymore, and yet she didn’t miss it.

Sera smirks at her from behind a tree, waltzing closer as she sees the Qunari frowning into her cup.

“Don’t like tea?” Sera asks, chuckling. “Me neither. Yuck”

“I wish I did. I could use it right about now.” Teya sighs, placing the cup down as Sera finds a seat next to her, wrapping her arm around Teya’s waist. 

“It’s better with honey. Got any?” Sera suggests, reaching over and tugging open the flap on Teya’s pack. She rifled through Teya’s belongings, pulling out bandages and herbs gently.

“I thought you said you didn’t like tea, Sera.” Teya laughed softly, clapping her lover on the shoulder.

“Yeah, but you need it. And I know it’s better with honey.” Sera continues her search for honey, getting closer to the bottom of Teya’s pack.

“I do. All those damned bees you asked for, we have way too much. At this rate, we’ll need an Inquisition Beekeeper at Skyhold.” She gestures to a side pouch, and Sera pulls out a container of honey. It was almost crystallized, but it was honey nonetheless, golden-brown and sweet.

“There. That better?” Sera plops a dollop of the honey into Teya’s tea, swirling it around in the cup before handing it to Teya. She sips gingerly, expecting the familiar earthy, herbal bitterness, but is pleasantly surprised by the sweetness of the honey.

“Yeah. Thanks, Arrows.” Teya leans over to press a kiss to Sera’s forehead, but finds her chin pulled down and her lips met by her lover’s.

“Welcome, Magey. You taste like honey now, ‘s nice.”


End file.
